


Whumptober

by Python07



Series: Shark God AU [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Chapters are not in chronological order, Character Death, Crack, Feels, Fluff and Angst, I'm just going where the prompts take me., Jumping around in both ancient and modern timelines, M/M, Mild Language, Richelieu as young Themistocles or Armand the marine archaeologist, Shark God AU universe, Treville as the shark god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-07-23 23:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16168817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: This takes place in the Shark God AU universe.I'm planning for chapters to take place in the ancient world and the modern world.





	1. Stabbed

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Whumptober prompts on Tumbler: https://la-vie-en-whump.tumblr.com/post/177963734617/october-approaches-in-celebration-of-our-cozy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gods, you’re a reckless idiot, Themistocles.” -- Ancient timeline

1\. Stabbed

He was the tallest, broadest man on board and the eldest. He’d been a sailor and marine longer than most of his crewmates had been alive and was the most superstitious because of it. He wore a shark tooth necklace around his neck for luck and a shark tattoo swam the length of his right forearm. His skin was permanently tanned, his long salt and pepper hair was in a braid down his back, and stubble covered his chin. He was covered in sweat and blood. His leather cuirass showed numerous old and new cuts. The shark engraved on it carried as many scars as he did.

His heart thundered in his chest but the shouting and the clanging of weapons was dying down. All he had to do was bare his teeth in a fierce scowl and raise his sword for the man facing him to drop his sword and then to his knees. “Stay and you live.”

The grizzled veteran turned from the vanquished enemy without a thought. He started looking around wildly for their wayward commander. The young man was on the other side of the beach, standing over the body of the other leader, head bowed and swaying slightly.

He ran over and had an arm around his waist to hold him up. “Gods, you’re a reckless idiot, Themistocles,” the man growled, equal parts fond, annoyed, furious, and scared.

Themistocles was pale. He was also sweaty and dirty from battle. He offered a crooked smile even as he leaned heavily against the man. He tried to sound cocky but the breathlessness ruined the effect. “You worry too much, Demonicus.”

Demonicus rolled his eyes and pulled one of Themistocles’ arms across his shoulders. “Come. Let’s tend your wound before you fall down.”

It took a moment for Themistocles to catch his breath to answer, “Take me to the ship.”

Demonicus had to all but carry Themistocles. “Idiot,” he grumbled. “I saw him.”

Themistocles let out a cross between a laugh and a gasp. “No, you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re supposed to take a sword thrust to the guts for me,” Demonicus hissed back. 

“It’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s debatable.” Demonicus did his best not to jar Themistocles too much and grit his teeth every time Themistocles let out a pained whimper. “Stupid. You know what your father and uncle will do to me if I fail to bring you home?” 

Themistocles stumbled. “Stop going on and on. It’s not helping my headache.”

Demonicus only stopped to scoop Themistocles up in his arms. He took him below decks, to a quiet corner, and eased him to sit down, back to the hull. He crouched down before him and helped Themistocles out of his leather and metal cuirass. He gingerly pulled the bloody tunic to the side and let out a curse.

Themistocles grabbed Demonicus’ wrist. “Leave me.”

“But--” Demonicus tried to protest.

Themistocles squeezed weakly. “He knows you’re loyal to me but he won’t like anyone near me right now.”

“Are you sure he’ll come?” Demonicus asked anxiously.

Themistocles let go. He put his head back and closed his eyes. “He’s already here,” he answered wearily. “Go, Demonicus. Set up camp for the night and see that the men are fed. See to the wounded and prepare the dead on both sides for proper burial.”

Demonicus looked around and felt the first tendrils of real fear all day. He wasn’t afraid of battle. If he died, he would die honorably. No one made it out of this life alive.

He wasn’t afraid of the shark god either. The god was to be respected and protected his people. Mostly. However, he was afraid of the interest the god showed in Themistocles. The favor of the gods was too fickle and the Shark god was quick to anger.

“Go,” Themistocles repeated. “He won’t hurt me.”

Demonicus grunted and jumped to his feet. He swiftly turned on his heel and trotted up the steps to the main deck. However, he hesitated.

//You were told to go. Don’t make me tell you again.// a stern voice sounded in his head. 

The voice didn’t shout but it still echoed inside Demonicus’ head. Dread filled his stomach. He started, growled at himself, and jumped to go carry out his orders. 

Demonicus was well out of the way when the Shark god appeared as a man in the ship. The Shark god didn’t make a sound as he walked. He knelt next to Themistocles and reached out to push the sweaty hair out of Themistocles’ face. He lightly kissed his lips. “I’m here, beloved.”

Themistocles smiled tiredly but didn’t have the strength to move. “I knew you’d come.”

The Shark god stroked the side of Themistocles’ face. He held his free hand over Themistocles’ wound and let his power flow through it. “I have you. Sleep.”


	2. Bloody Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I prepared him for his funeral! Where the fuck were you!" -- Ancient timeline

2\. Bloody Hands

The sky was black as night in the middle of the afternoon, the rain pounded, lightning flashed, and the thunder was loud enough to shake the earth. An angry sea tossed the small boat about. Water crashed over the railing and onto the decks. Below decks was rapidly filling. The shredded sails blew like tattered flags from the mast.

The lone man broke off his necklace and tossed it out into the ocean. Then he slowly climbed the mast. His heavy, drenched clothes stuck to his body. Water in his eyes made it hard to see. He made it to the top, wrapped his legs around it, and tied himself to the wood.

He wasn’t too far from the island but couldn’t see anything of the city. He couldn’t see the flooded streets and buildings. He couldn’t see his people huddling in fear in the hills. He may as well have been out in the middle of the endless ocean.

He looked up defiantly. He held his arms out towards the sky. He had a knife in his left hand. “It’s me!” he shouted. “Demonicus son of Silenus! One that has worshipped you all of his days as did my father, grandfather, and all my elders! Friend and loyal servant to Themistocles!”

The storm continued to rage.

Demonicus grit his teeth and cut his forearm, straight through his shark tattoo. “Hear me, Shark god!” 

The wind and rain whicked away the blood as soon as it appeared. If anything, it rained harder. The boat almost rolled over but righted at the last moment.

Demonicus savagely stuck the blade into the mast by his head. He waved his arms in challenge. “Fuck you! You are a great, bloody, rotten bastard!” He pointed in the general direction of the city. “You are supposed to be our protector! Do you know how many innocents you have destroyed in your rage! Themistocles’ blood in not on their hands! It’s on yours! It’s on mine! We weren’t there when he needed us and those that did the foul deed have already paid with their lives!”

A brilliant flash of lightning lit the entire sky for a brief moment. He caught a brief sight of the city’s silhouette. The thunder was loud and angry enough to rattle his bones and the teeth in Demonicus’ head.

“And where were you!” Demonicus raged back. “You marked him! You fucking marked him and you didn’t know he was in danger!” He pounded his own chest. He continued shouting until he was hoarse. “At least I was looking for him! I found him! I saw the blood. I saw what those bastards did to him! I prepared him for his funeral! Where the fuck were you!”

He shuddered. The moisture on his face was from the rain. That’s all. He wasn’t crying. He had no more tears left. He’d lost too much. He blinked rapidly and sneered, “You were only around for fighting and fucking. I knew you wouldn’t be there when he needed you. After all, he was only a mortal. What is one small life worth to a cold, cruel god?”

He had to turn his face from the rain. He coughed and ineffectually swiped at his eyes. He glared back up at the sky. His voice was hoarse. “He gave himself to you and you weren’t there. He fucking trusted you.” 

Demonicus rested his forehead against the wet wood. There was a howling in his ears and his heart hammered in his chest. He threw his head back and let out a primal scream. “You were supposed to be our protector and you betrayed us. You aren’t worthy of worship or remembrance.”

Lightning suddenly struck and snapped the mast just below him and Demonicus hit the water, still tied to the piece of mast. He spluttered and tried to keep his head above the cold water. The waves tossed him about and he couldn’t get his bearings.

He barely saw the ship before it succumbed to the water. The rain continued to pound down on him and waves snap at him. He spit out water and clung to the piece of wood. “Do your worst! I’m not afraid to die! You’ve doomed us all anyway with your selfishness!”

He couldn’t hear the Shark god laughing manically at him as he struggled. He didn’t hear the god laughing when he blacked out. He didn’t here the god laughing when he washed up on the shore of a deserted beach.

He woke with a start. He sat up and looked around. The sun beat down, the water was calm and clear, his arm throbbed, and he was filthy and starving. 

The piece of mast and his knife was still tied to him. He retrieved his blade, cut himself free, and slowly climbed to his feet. He stared out at the ocean and muttered bitterly, “Oh, fuck you.”


	3. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're my hero." -- Modern timeline

3\. Insomnia

“I thought you didn’t get insomnia anymore,” a voice teased gently.

Armand sat on the balcony off his room at Louis’ house. He was curled on a chair, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and one over his legs. There was a half empty glass of wine and an open bottle on the table next to him. “I thought you didn’t need me to handle all of your problems anymore,” he drawled back without looking. 

“What can I say?” Louis shot back cheerfully and earnestly. “The board still listens to you. Plus, you have a knack for dealing with Mommy dearest and her toadies. You’re my hero.” 

Armand snorted but didn’t reply.

Louis stepped out into the cool night air. He wore a dressing gown, a blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and baby blue fluffy bunny slippers. He carried a cup of hot chocolate with a drop of Irish cream and marshmallows in it. He cocooned himself in the other chair and nodded towards the lights of the city. He smiled. “It’s quite a view isn’t it. Paris never quite sleeps.”

Armand sipped his wine and sighed quietly. “Not quite as beautiful as starlight on the ocean, but it’ll do.”

Louis rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t need to hear more about your fixation with the sea. I don’t get it and I never will.” He frowned for a moment but it soon passed. “I can’t say that I’ve had great experiences on the water.” 

One end of Armand’s mouth quirked up. He still didn’t look at Louis. “I know. You were remarkably brave.”

It was Louis’ turn to snort. He sipped his chocolate and watched Armand staring at the view. He licked some chocolate and melted fluff off his top lip. “So, you want to tell me what’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” Armand answered automatically.

Louis deliberately put his hot chocolate to the side, leaned forward, and sharply flicked Armand’s ear. “I’ve known you my whole life. I know when you’re lying.”

Armand jerked and glared at Louis. “It’s nothing.”

Louis arched an eyebrow in perfect imitation of Armand, but he couldn’t hold it. He offered a shit eating grin instead. “Does this have anything to do with Mr. Growly?”

Armand pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Growly?”

“What was his name…” Louis trailed off. He snapped his fingers. “…Jean. The man who came with you to visit me in the hospital. He kept hovering at your side and growled when I hugged you.”

Armand flushed. He dropped his gaze. He cleared his throat and slowly took another sip of wine.

Louis clapped in delight. “Oh, my God! It is!” He jumped up excitedly to wrap Armand in a hug. “I know that you’re not used to that kind of attention but a little romance in life is a great thing. Now, maybe you’ll believe me when I say you’re sexy.”

Armand shifted uncomfortably. “Louis--”

“Wait.” Louis suddenly pulled back to stare dramatically down at Armand. “I can’t believe it. You? You jumped into bed with him.”

Armand flushed an even deeper shade of red. He pushed Louis away in exasperation. “I am human. Occasionally, I do impulsive things.”

“If you say so,” Louis replied easily. He sat back down with a flourish of his blanket cape. He was on the edge of his seat. His legs bounced up and down as he looked at Armand gleefully. “So, what’s the problem?”

Armand shook his head and didn’t answer.

“Come on.” Louis’ eyes sparked mischievously. “I can always set Milady on your scent.”

“Very well,” Armand grumbled. He suddenly found the contents of his glass fascinating and his voice dropped. “I want to be impulsive like that on a more permanent basis, which is a very different thing.”

Louis chuckled warmly. “And?”

Armand took his time refilling his glass. He kept his gaze averted from Louis’. “A one-night stand is not the same as a relationship. I don’t do relationships.”

Louis reached out to take Armand’s hand. He held it in his lap. “Yes, you do. You have a relationship with me. I’m your friend and you’re the only one that Milady actually likes. Everyone at the research facility respects you.”

“That’s not the same. I don’t know how to do this,” Armand whispered. He opened his mouth to continue but shut it again.

Louis squeezed Armand’s fingers. His voice was soft and encouraging. “Spend time together. Go on dates like normal people.”

Armand hesitated. “But neither of us is ‘normal people’.”

“That would keep you from having dinner together?”

Armand let out a heavy sigh. “That wasn't what I meant.”

Louis titled his head to the side and studied Armand for a long moment. His jaw dropped. “I can’t believe it. You’re scared. The man who free swims with sharks is scared.”

Armand pulled his hand back and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. “The stakes in this are already high, with quite a lot of room for error.”

Louis bit his bottom lip. “Why? Why can't you just have fun with Mr. Growly?”

“Because he makes me lose control,” Armand snapped. He squeezed his eyes shut. He took a deep breath before opening them again. His voice was low and calm. “I can quite clearly picture coming home to him, waking up with him, and arguing over what to watch on TV with him for the rest of my life.”

Louis moved to perch on the arm of Armand’s chair. He wrapped an arm around him. “Oh, Armand, you poor bastard. You’re screwed.”

Armand leaned into Louis’ embrace. “I know.”


	4. "No, stop!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jean, listen to me. Stay with me, buddy. This isn’t the time to shark out.” -- Modern timeline

4\. “No, stop!”

It really was a beautiful day. The sun was out. The water was calm. They’d made a successful dive down to the site in the morning and brought back some gold coins and new pictures of some inscriptions for Joseph.

Of course, it all had to be ruined by the arrival of “important” guests. Instead of taking care of their equipment and cataloguing, the had to play nice with Louis and his mother. With her arrival, everyone had to stand on the top deck like she was a visiting queen. It grated on everyone’s nerves. Then again, Louis funded this whole circus, so it paid to be courteous. 

Louis wasn’t so bad. Porthos liked him. He was a bit of an airhead but he was sweet and anyone with a pair of eyes could tell that Armand was his hero. The poor man hated water, lost his wife to the charms of a reckless diver (friend or no, Porthos told the truth), and never had any idea what any of the lab rats or history nerds were saying, yet came once a month to spend the weekend with Armand.

Marie d’ Medici was the exact opposite of sweet. Everyone knew she thought the research facility a waste of money. It didn’t matter how many new species of plant and animal life they discovered or any of their other scientific breakthroughs. It didn’t matter they were sitting on the archaeological find of the century.

Porthos stood with Jean at the edge of the crowd (Jean still got twitchy if he was surrounded). He saw her hand reach out as if in slow motion and plant itself on Armand’s shoulder. In one swift movement, he cursed under his breath and turned to plant himself in an angry god’s way. “Jean,” he whispered, enunciating the name clearly. “Jean, listen to me. Stay with me, buddy. This isn’t the time to shark out.”

“She’s touching him,” Jean snarled and tried to step around Porthos.

“I know.” Porthos moved to stay in front of him. He glanced back to see Armand remove her hand only for her to take Armand’s arm and press close. He turned back to see Jean’s livid face. “Don’t worry. Boss can take care of himself.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “He’d never be interested in that harpy.”

Jean growled low in his throat but it was enough for everyone around them to hear. He displayed a couple very sharp shark teeth. Blue and black swirled together in his eyes.

The group moved to the elevators to go down into the main part of the facility. Porthos sent a silent prayer up to the heavens to stay in one piece, grabbed Jean’s arm, and pulled him in the opposite direction and out of sight. He pushed Jean into a wall and planted his free hand on Jean’s chest. “She’s a pain in the arse, but she’s Louis’ mother. You can’t eat her.”

Jean swiftly took Porthos down to the deck. He hovered over him. His eyes were the full shark black. “Who says?”

Porthos didn’t flinch in the face of Jean’s anger. Instead he tackled Jean onto his back and dropped his full weigh on Jean’s shoulders. “Stop! Please!”

Jean’s rage was palpable. He was barely audible. “You have no right to keep me from my prey.”

“I need you to listen. Please, my lord.” Porthos looked into the Shark god’s eyes, honest and pleading. “Louis already shut us down once. He’ll do so again permanently if you go on another rampage and eat dear old mum. How angry do you think Richelieu will be then? He loves this stuff and he loves you. This is the only place he can have both.”

Jean threw Porthos off without any effort. He jumped to his feet. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

Porthos stayed on his knees. He held both hands up in surrender and lowered his eyes. “Go for a swim and burn off some of this rage. Terrorize some fish. Chase Predator but don’t hurt him.”

In a flash, Jean was gone. Porthos scrambled to his feet. He had just enough time to make it to the edge to see the megalodon swim away. He blew out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Predator. Do me a favor, don’t try to fight him this time.”


	5. Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t hide in the shadows when the light returns.” --Ancient timeline

5\. Poisoned

Attalus walked his beloved Artemis to the smaller dining room for the women. He turned to face her fully. He took a moment to admire her, his goddess. She was two inches taller than him. She was slender and strong. She had lovely olive skin and deep hazel eyes. Even though her dress was black with silver threading, she glowed.

He squeezed her hand, and ducked his head to try and catch her eye. He pushed a lock of her long brown hair behind her ear and tenderly cupped the side of her face. She very briefly met his eyes but there was no emotion there. There never was. She removed her hand from his and took a small step back. She inclined her head politely to her legal husband and turned to go and join the rest of the women. She didn’t so much as glance at back him. She never did.

He stared after her for a long moment, frowning. Why could she never look at him the smallest measure of fondness or love? For two years, he tried to show her how he loved her. He gave her all she could want and catered to all her needs. Why was she always so cold and indifferent? 

He shook his head at himself and turned to head to the main dining room with the rest of the men. He took his place at the funeral feast. Even with the thinning of their ranks due to the plague, he was still at the second table with the rest of his cousins and his mad uncle Xenon.

His eyes roamed over those at the head table. There were the King’s two remaining children, the twins, Militades and Menodora, the High Priest and Priestess of the Land goddess and Shark god respectively. There was also the King’s beloved sister, Elpis. He didn’t wonder why the King let those two women break with tradition and eat with the men. The King always treated them equally, even more of an equal than any of his wives. The court just learned to accept it. 

Attalus stood with the rest at the appearance of his uncle, old King Philip. The king was only in early fifties, but he looked twenty years older. He’d always looked so big and imposing to Attalus, but now he was small and frail. His fine clothes hung limply on him. There were bags under his eyes and there were deep lines carved into his face. His shoulders were stooped as if the weight of the world rested there. His once lustrous black hair and beard were sterling silver. He walked slowly, leaning heavily against Themistocles at his side.

They stopped briefly for Philip to look at those assembled at the three tables. He cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse but the hall was deathly quiet. “Thank you, my friends and family, for joining me in celebrating the life of my dear son Alexander. Too may of us have been taken too soon and I will always suffer the loss, but having you all here is a great comfort to me.” He clapped for the servants to start serving the dishes. “Please, relax and enjoy the feast.”

The room settled back down. Attalus watched Philip whisper to Themistocles. Themistocles offered a small pained smile, nodded, and gently eased Philip down onto the main couch next to Elpis. Themistocles made sure the man was stable and comfortable before he let go.

Themistocles squeezed his mother’s shoulder. He was about to take the place on Elpis’ other side but Philip snatched his hand. He tugged Themistocles to take the place on his other side, between the King and Militades.

Attalus admitted that he could be considered ordinary when compared to Themistocles. He wasn’t tall and rugged. He wasn’t that pretty but he wasn’t ugly. He wasn’t much of a sailor. He could defend himself but he wasn’t a warrior.

Attalus’ eyes narrowed. He should be up at the main table. His blood was just as noble as Themistocles’. He was the King’s voice when Philip was too sick to sit at the city council. He kept the peace between the old nobility and the rapidly rising merchant class. He amassed his own fortune, owned two large merchant ships, and he was next in line to be head of the Merchant’s Guild.

What did it matter that he wasn’t a warrior or budding admiral like Themistocles? What did it matter that he didn’t have that charisma or that the common people didn’t recognize him at the market like they did their hero? What did it matter that a god never marked him? What did it matter that he had to work twice as hard to get his voice to be heard?

He was heard. He had influence in his own right. He had Philip’s love. Philip never hesitated to tell him so.

He worked hard for his position and Philip seemed to appreciate it, but why wasn’t he at the main table? Why was the king showing Themistocles so much favor? He didn’t begrudge Themistocles any of his successes but he deserved some accolades too. 

He hid his scowl by taking a sip of his wine. He was Philip’s work donkey but he wasn’t the one Philip called on when he needed support during Alexander’s funeral. He should’ve been the man’s favorite. He should be seen at the man’s side, not relegated to the second table with secondary nobles.

Uncle Xenon elbowed Attalus lightly. “Dear Attalus,” he said sweetly in a melodious voice.

Attalus started and glared at Xenon. “What is it, Uncle?” he snapped.

Xenon was a younger version of Philip with darker eyes and wilder hair. He regarded Attalus solemnly. “I can hear you brooding. Do not give into the darkness of your thoughts.”

Attalus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s a dark day,” he answered grimly.

Xenon tapped the side of Attalus’ head. “Don’t hide in the shadows when the light returns.”


	6. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hope that you will continue to help the next King. He will need you.” -- Ancient timeline

6\. Betrayed

Attalus arrived out of breath and the questions came out rapid fire. “How is he? Have you slept, Uncle? Where are the twins?”

Xenon sat placidly on one of the couches. He had his eyes closed and answered at his own pace. “He’s much the same. I spent the night with him. I slept enough. Militades has already been here. Now, he’s sacrificing to the goddess and praying for her to ease Philip’s pain. Menodora is in with him now.” 

Attalus nodded in thought. He started pacing the sitting room outside of Philip’s bedchamber. Sunlight lit the entire room and a breeze blew in from the ocean. It should’ve been light and airy, instead the atmosphere was heavy and somber. He turned on his heel again and glanced at Xenon. “He got better before.”

“He’s weaker than before,” Xenon answered serenely.

Attalus scowled. He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. “Those doctors better not be bleeding him when he’s already weak.”

“They have done what they can, but he’s ready,” Xenon said calmly, as if commenting on the weather.

“What do you mean?” Attalus demanded.

Xenon took a deep, cleansing breath before opening his eyes to regard Attalus solemnly. “The death of Alexander has broken him.”

Attalus shook his head stubbornly and continued to pace. “No, not him. There’s too much fire in him.” 

Xenon smiled sadly. “You always remember him as he was. He appreciates it, but you have that fire now. His children have it. His nieces and nephews have it.” He stood up and planted himself in Attalus’ way. He put his hands on Attalus’ shoulders. “He is bone weary. He has outlived two of his sons and two wives and has lived to see this plague ravage his people. He has seen his own body deteriorate and knows that his mind isn’t what it should be. He doesn’t have the strength to see us through these times.”

Attalus sighed heavily. “Who will see us through then?”

Xenon squeezed Attalus’ shoulders. “I believe he has thought of nothing else.”

“Attalus,” a voice interrupted softly.

Attalus looked Menodora as she stepped from Philip’s chamber. She was dressed in somber colors. Her long dark hair was loose without the ornaments she usually wore. She was without makeup. Her blue eyes were puffy and her lips bitten but she wasn’t crying. She went to go hug Attalus. “Father wishes to see you now.”

Attalus returned the hug. He held her tightly and buried his face in the side of her neck. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Menodora murmured back. She rubbed his back. “Be strong, Cousin. He needs you now.”

Attalus sniffed and forced himself to pull away. He took a deep breath. He nodded to her and marched into Philip’s chamber.

All of the windows were open. The breeze was warm, but the smell of ointments and medicines was thick in the air. The only sounds came from the ocean and Philip’s labored breathing.

Philip lay still and small in his bed. His eyes were half closed and sweat dotted his brow. He mumbled under his breath.

Attalus took the cloth from Philip’s forehead and rinsed it in the basin of cool water sitting on a small stand. He gingerly sat on the edge of Philip’s bed. He gently wiped his face.

Philip weakly grabbed Attalus’ wrist. “Attalus,” he rasped.

Attalus took Philip’s hand, placed a small kiss on Philip’s palm, and lay Philip’s hand back down next to him. He gave a small smile. “It’s me, Uncle.”

Philip opened his eyes. They were clouded with fever. “You’ve always been such a good boy. You have been a great help to me.”

“It’s been my honor and privilege to serve you.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to run this kingdom without you.” Philip started coughing. “You have become a fine man. I only wish everyone could see your sterling qualities as I do. I wish Artemis could see what I see.”

Attalus set the cloth to the side and helped Philip take a drink of water. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

Philip lay still for a moment to catch his breath. “I hope that you will continue to help the next King. He will need you.”

Attalus’ stomach dropped and there was suddenly a heavy weight in his chest. He turned away to refresh the cloth. He held it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “After all I’ve done, you’ve chosen Themistocles,” he whispered.

“Yes. He is a natural born leader and the people love him, but he knows nothing of how the council works. He doesn’t understand the myriad concerns of the farmers and the merchants. He can’t see the whole the way you do.” Philip started coughing again. “You two will do amazing things together.”

Attalus grit his teeth but helped Philip get another drink. He eased Philip to lay flat again. He wiped the cool cloth over Philip’s neck.

“I’ve told no one else yet. I wanted you to be the first to know. You can help me break it to Themistocles.” Philip chuckled raggedly. “He won’t want it. He would live onboard ship if he could.”

“Did you even consider me?” Attalus asked quietly.

Philip took Attalus’ hand and held it over his heart. “Of course,” he rasped, heartfelt, “but that life is not for you. The people would never accept you.” His eyes slid shut in exhaustion. “The stress and responsibility would eat you alive and turn you into a tyrant. I love you too much to do that to you.”

Attalus didn’t think. His free hand slid to one of the extra pillows on the bed. The other pressed Philip’s chest down. He held the pillow over Philip’s face. Tears of grief and anger slid down his face. “I love you too, Uncle.”


	7. Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t find anyone willing to go on the water with that megalodon on the loose.” -- Modern timeline

7\. Kidnapped

Hers was the only occupied table on the café patio. She sat in a shady corner, away from the crowded street and any prying ears and eyes. An empty plate sat at her elbow. The cup of insanely expensive coffee stopped halfway to her blood red lips. She glared at Rochefort. “What do you mean you can’t find anyone willing to do the job?”

Rochefort bowed to Marie d’ Medici and offered his most charming, oily smile. “Please, madam, allow me to sit and I will explain.”

Marie regarded him as if he were an insect a few moments longer. Then she slowly and deliberately put her cup down and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin. She pointed to the seat across from her. “Very well, but this had better be good.”

Rochefort settled into the seat gracefully. He held a hand up for a waiter. “You don’t mind if I order something. I didn’t have time for breakfast.” 

Marie sniffed disdainfully. “If you must.”

“Oh, I must,” Rochefort drawled and gave a cheeky smile.

The waiter appeared and refilled her coffee. He didn’t even glance at Rochefort. He reached out to take her empty plate. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Marie patted the young man’s hand. “Nothing for me. Thank you, Luc.”

“Coffee and eggs benedict,” Rochefort ordered imperiously.

Luc looked to Marie for permission.

Marie sighed in annoyance and nodded.

Luc nodded to Rochefort. “Very well, Sir.”

Rochefort watched him walk away. He let out a bark of laughter. “He’s younger than Louis, Mommie Dearest. I didn’t know your tastes ran to fresh meat.” He snickered. “And who do those curls remind you of?”

“You will keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me,” Marie snapped back coolly. “Don’t make me remind you of your manners.”

Rochefort grinned back but inclined his head. “As you say.”

Luc quietly returned with Rochefort’s coffee. He disappeared swiftly again, but not before trading glances with Marie.

Rochefort snickered some more while Marie looked murderous. “Just one more,” he begged. “Does young Luc like being a kept man or does he still live with mom and dad?” He held his hands up. “Okay, this is the last one. Promise. Is he even old enough to know what a gigolo is?”

Marie sat forward and stabbed a fork into Rochefort’s hand. She wasn’t breathing hard. Her face was barely flushed and there was not a hair out of place. “I warned you,” she said flatly.

Rochefort bit his lip to stop from giving anything except a pained grunt. He pulled the fork loose and wrapped two of those expensive napkins around his hand. He let out a shaky breath. He kept his eyes averted from her. “That you did. I apologize. I forgot myself.”

Marie sipped her coffee. “Now, why can’t you find anyone for the job? I told you money is no object.”

Rochefort cradled his hand against his chest. “I can’t find anyone willing to go on the water with that megalodon on the loose.”

Marie pursed her lips in thought. “I didn’t think those were the type of men to be scared of a fish.”

“Not normally, but this is the biggest shark ever recorded. No one has survived an attack yet. All of them are afraid of being chum.”

“Offer double.”

Rochefort rolled his eyes. “I did. I also offered triple. No takers.” 

“Cowards,” Marie seethed. “What about doing it when he’s on land?”

Rochefort shook his head. “Louis may have shut down the facility but Armand still won’t leave it.”

Marie scowled and spoke more to herself than to Rochefort. “That impossible man. I should’ve gotten rid of him years ago.”

Rochefort chanced meeting her gaze again. “But it occurs to me that we don’t need to do this anymore. We can get what you want and keep our hands clean.”

Marie rapidly focused on Rochefort. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t have to kidnap Armand to get the facility shut down. Louis has already done it because of the shark. It wouldn’t take much for you to convince him the shut down should be permanent, especially if it’s for the safety of all involved. He sells the facility to one of the universities or labs and he gets Armand back with him full time.”

“Armand would just resign to stay with his work. Whoever buys the facility would want to keep him. That’s the way I eventually hope to get rid of him.”

Rochefort bared his teeth in a shark like smile. “I know, but that won’t occur to Louis.”

Marie’s expression matched. “You may have a point there. Maybe you’re not completely useless. I will have Luc wrap your food up. Go get your hand treated at the usual place and take the rest of the day off.”


	8. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t care how much you growl and posture, you are leaving him alone to get some sleep.” -- Modern timeline

8\. Fever

The voice was light and feminine, stern and compassionate. “I don’t care how much you growl and posture, you are leaving him alone to get some sleep.”

He didn’t know how the woman had the strength to shove him out of Armand’s quarters. Her small hands were immovable on his chest. He glared at her. It took all his strength not let his shark eyes and teeth flash. //Must not eat the facility doctor. Must not eat the facility doctor. It would just upset Armand.//

She planted her feet and raised her chin defiantly. She was a head shorter than him. She had long brown hair in a ponytail down her back and deep brown eyes. She regarded him as if he were an unruly child. “My patient, my rules.”

He looked over her head to see Armand’s pale, sweaty form fitfully asleep in bed. There were several blankets over Armand yet he still looked to be shivering. The smells of sickness, sweat, medicine, and Vick’s were almost overpowering to his heightened senses. 

He couldn’t stand to see Armand so fragile. He was tempted to pick her up and move her out of the way so he could go wrap himself around Armand. He didn’t have the same wealth of power as when he’d had to heal Themistocles from injuries sustained in battle, but he had to do something to protect Armand from this “virus”. He mentally added that to his list of words to learn.

She kept one hand on his chest. With the other, she reached back to shut the hatch. She used his new name for the first time. “Jean, you need to listen.”

He may not be able to see Armand at the moment but he could still smell and hear him. He blinked and scowled down at her. How dare this woman act so familiar with him. How dare she touch him. How dare she put herself between them. He’d killed people for less. “I don’t know you,” he growled, low and rough. “I never gave you permission to use that name.”

She didn’t notice the black specks in his blue eyes. She smiled warmly in the face of his displeasure. “I’m Dr. Constance Bonacieux. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Treville. I’ve been the facility doctor since we opened and I’ve known Armand since I was a child. He picked me for this place. I owe him so much and would never hurt him. Now, you know a bit about me.”

“Great,” he sneered. “Move.”

She pushed him back another step. “No.”

He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. He squeezed his eyes shut. He continued to growl, low in his throat, his lips pressed together to keep from flashing his teeth.

She growled right back at him, completely uncowed and unafraid. “This is what’s best for him. He needs peace and quiet to rest. In a few days, the virus will run it’s course and he’ll be fine. He doesn’t need you disturbing him.”

“I wasn’t disturbing him,” he managed through grit teeth.

She gave him a thump on his chest. “You were pacing and snapping at whoever dared come close. When I came in, you were close to yelling at the one the sharks swimming outside the window.”

“Must have been Predator,” a new voice chimed in lightly.

He only relaxed minutely when he recognized it to be Porthos. He kept his eyes closed. He kept his hands to himself even though she was still touching him and invading his space. He concentrated on his breathing, not the urge to tear her apart.

She chuckled. “Maybe it was. You know I can’t tell the difference.”

Porthos stopped at his side. He grinned at her. “Grey reef shark? Rare to these waters?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Porthos kept his tone and manner light. “It’s all right. Gray and white shark? Black band on his caudal fin? Jagged scar along his side?”

“I think so.”

“Go take a swim. Don’t eat anyone,” Porthos muttered just loud enough for Jean to hear him. He smoothly stepped between them, deftly took her elbow, turned her away, and opened the hatch so they could peek inside Armand’s quarters. “That’s Predator all right and he won’t be going anywhere.” 

“I didn’t think sharks behaved that way,” she remarked curiously.

“They don’t. Predator is one of a kind.” Porthos pulled the door shut again. He tilted his head for Jean to leave. “He recognizes Bossman as part of his gam.”

“Gam?”

Porthos started leading her in the opposite direction. “Herd. Frenzy. School. How about pack?”

Jean stood still until he had a handle on his anger. He opened his eyes and they were blue once more. He took one last look at the hatch to Armand’s quarters and stalked off. He’d go burn off some energy. Then he’d be back and she’d better not get in his way again.


	9. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you hear that, Shark god?” he suddenly shouted. “You won’t beat me!” -- Ancient timeline

9\. Stranded

It took an hour for Demonicus to walk around the outer edge of the island. The view out was nothing but the unbroken blue of the ocean. He didn’t see any other islands or boats. The inner view was dense jungle filled with birds and small creatures.

The storm had passed and the sun beat down on him. He was sweaty, covered in filth, and barefoot. His arm stopped bleeding long ago but the wound was dirty and crusted over in dried blood. The only thing he had was his knife.

He was parched and his stomach rumbled. He glared at the sun. He glared at the ocean. “You won’t beat me,” he growled. His hands clenched into fists at his sides so that he wouldn’t throw his knife. “Do you hear that, Shark god?” he suddenly shouted. “You won’t beat me!”

He spun on heel and stalked into the jungle. The trees were green and massive, some bore unfamiliar fruit. The shade was immediately welcome but the air was still heavy and humid. 

As he moved deeper, he carved a mark into the trees to keep track of where he was going. He didn’t see or hear any animals much bigger than the palm of his hand. Some of them were furry, some feathered, and some scaly.

He didn’t know how far he’d gone when he heard the sound of running water. He followed it to a small spring. The water was clear. He dropped to his belly, cupped his hand in the water, and brought it to his lips. He tentatively sipped it. “No salt.” A wide grin split his face. “No salt!” he shouted hoarsely. He gulped handfuls of water until his throat no longer felt raw. He dropped water over his head and barely refrained from dunking his head in the pool.

He rolled over to lay next to the water and shut his eyes. He focused on the bubbling sound and the wind in the trees. He tried not to think of the storm. He tried not to think about the fate of the city and all of the deaths he’d witnessed. He tried not to think about Themistocles or that damned Shark god. Dwelling on those horrors would only provoke more impotent anger.

His stomach grumbled again. Loudly. He opened his eyes to stare up at the canopy of leaves.

Several of the trees bore fruit high above his head. He crawled to the nearest one and started climbing. He didn’t know how long it took but he moved from tree to tree and gathered a good sized pile of melons, coconuts, and large berries.

All of his muscles ached and his heart beat unnaturally loud in his ears. He took a moment to breathe deeply and something settled in his chest. Then he sat down next to the pool. He used his knife to split one of the melons in half. He tentatively sipped the sweet juice.

He couldn’t help it. He gulped the rest down and attacked the fruity flesh with his knife. He hacked the pieces out and stuffed them in his mouth. He scraped every last bit from the melon rind. Then he used one of the empty halves as a cup and downed half the water immediately. He dumped the rest of his head, shook himself, and let out a shuddering breath.

He quickly at another one and it appeased his hunger enough for him to slow down. He tried some of the berries and a coconut. He drank his fill of water.

After he was finally sated, he used another empty melon half for water to clean his arm. He watched the dried blood dissolve and run down his arm. He grit his teeth and examined the angry, jagged cut. Bits of ink were still visible on his skin but nothing of the shape of the shark remained.

He shook his head resolutely. He didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss his faith. However, he could miss everything and everyone else. His eyes stung but no moisture fell.

He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. Then he grunted and scrambled to his feet. He hid his pile of fruit next to the pool and continued his exploration. 

“Oh, look,” Demonicus muttered sarcastically. “More trees and vines.”

That’s all he found before he left the jungle and found himself on the beach again. The sun still beat down relentlessly. The light glinting off the water was almost painful to look at.

He turned back towards the jungle. He started collecting large branches. His knife wasn’t the best for this but he was able to collect limbs from some of the smaller trees. He proceeded to make a small shelter held together with sap and vines. He built it just on the edge between the beach and the jungle so he could see any passing ships. It was just big enough for him to lay or sit comfortably in the shade.

By the time he was finished, the sun was low on the horizon. He had just enough daylight to make it back to the spring and back. He lay down, cracked one of the melons, and managed to eat half of it before he passed out from exhaustion.

The next time he woke, the sun was high in the sky again. He hissed when he tried to move. His whole body was stiff and sore.

He forced himself into a sitting position. He looked around. The beach was the same as yesterday. The ocean was the same vastness.

He ate a few pieces of fruit and pressed on. He spent the day exploring and setting small traps. He returned to the spring when he needed to rest. It was better listening to the spring and the jungle as opposed to the beach. He also made sure to build a fire near his shelter, to hopefully attract any passing boats.

Every day, he made a notch on one of the branches of his shelter to keep count of how long he’d been there. However, the days still ran together in his mind. It was all the same: trips to the spring, collecting fruit, and trapping animals and roasting them over his fire.

His hair and beard grew ever longer and unkempt. His skin darkened in the sun. His clothes were little more than rags. The wound on his arm was turning into a massive scar.

One morning he woke to two triremes approaching the island. He peered out at them but he couldn’t recognize the signs painted on the hulls. They came close and dropped anchor. Two full smaller boats, one from each ship, came closer.

He slowly stood as armed men jumped from each to finish pulling them ashore. He stood as still and non-threatening as possible. He didn’t resist when two of them ran at him, pushed him down on his knees, and held him there at sword point.

The rest of the men swarmed the shore. They were all bearing arms and all wore face paint. Some had armor. One of them was taller than the others, decked out in polished armor. He had dark skin. He had long hair in an intricate braid and he wore brighter face paint. He came to stand in front of Demonicus and regarded him for a long moment before he spoke. 

However, Demonicus didn’t understand the language. He shook his head. His voice was rough from disuse. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

The leader nodded. The next words came out heavily accented but intelligible. “How did you come to be on our sacred island, stranger?”

Demonicus grimaced. He’d survived this long only to be executed as an infidel. “Would you believe an angry god sunk my boat and made me wash up here?”

The leader nodded and the men hauled Demonicus to his feet. He looked Demonicus up and down and Demonicus didn’t flinch. “I believe that you have quite a story to tell. What is your name?”

“Demonicus, son of Silenus.” 

One end of the leader’s mouth quirked up. “I am Alcaeus, son of Ampelios. You will come with us.”


	10. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then I will keep your secret, but if he acts like a beast again, you may take refuge with me. He would not dare desecrate the temple.” -- Ancient Timeline

10\. Bruises

Menodora finished her devotions and left her small chamber in the back of the temple. All of the doors were open, filling the whole place with light. There was a breeze and the scent of incense filled the air. 

She found a veiled woman, head down, kneeling before the statue of the Shark god. The woman’s shoulders were slumped. She knelt down next to her. “I don’t wish to disturb your prayers,” she said gently. “Is there any way I can be of service?”

“No,” a shaky voice whispered.

Menodora frowned and looked the woman up and down. She noticed bruises on the woman’s wrists. “I have a balm to soothe those.”

The woman swallowed a cry of dismay. “That won’t be necessary.”

Menodora ducked her head to try and see the woman’s face. The woman ducked her head further, but the hair and perfume were familiar. She knew that voice, although she’d never heard that type of fear in it before. “Artemis?”

Artemis shrunk away. “Please.”

Menodora put a light hand on Artemis’ shoulder. “What’s wrong, cousin?”

Artemis sniffed. She kept her face averted but no move to shake off Menodora’s hand. “Nothing.”

Menodora gave a gentle squeeze. “You are obviously troubled. Please, let me help you.”

“Nothing can help me.” Artemis shuddered in dread. “If the plague doesn’t take me, he will.”

Menodora turned Artemis to face her. She tipped Artemis’ face up. She gasped at the sight of a fresh black eye. “Who did this to you? Was it Attalus?”

Artemis swallowed heavily. “Yes,” she rasped.

Menodora took both of Artemis’ hands. She shook her head sadly. “I never thought him capable of such a thing.”

Artemis let out a long, weary sigh. “He hasn’t been right since King Philip died. His temper is short and he’s been drinking to excess. He came back last night and forced his way into my chamber.” She blinked rapidly. “There was something in his eyes. He was like a wild beast. He said he may not have my heart but he would have my body as often as he sees fit.” She touched her face self consciously. “That’s when he hit me.”

Menodora pulled Artemis into her arms and let her cry on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Artemis clutched Menodora. Her voice cracked. “He broke down crying when he saw me this morning. He swore to me that it would never happen again and that he loves me.”

“Let me tell Militades and Themistocles.”

Artemis tried to pull away to run. “No.”

Instead, Menodora stood and pulled Artemis up with her. She led Artemis into her private chambers. She eased her down into a seat in the window with a view of the ocean. She pressed a handkerchief into her hands. Then she retrieved the balm from her wardrobe and took a seat across from Artemis. “They need to know, especially Themistocles as head of the family. They will make sure he’s punished.”

Artemis dabbed at her wet eyes. “How can they? He is my husband.”

Menodora took one of Artemis’ wrists and started working the balm into her skin. “That doesn’t mean he can force himself upon and assault you. Besides, when Themistocles is king…”

Artemis squeezed her eyes shut. Her voice was small. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“It doesn’t have to go any further than the family.”

Artemis took a deep breath. She opened her eyes and there was something hurt and broken there. “Nothing stays a secret on this island. It would destroy us as sure as the plague.”

Menodora treated Artemis’ other hand. “I love Attalus like a brother, but he had no right to do this to you. Are you injured anywhere else?”

Artemis flushed, embarrassed. She bit her bottom lip. She pushed her tunic to the side to show the finger shaped bruises on her hips.

Menodora leaned over Artemis and gently worked the balm into those bruises as well. Then she sat back against her side of the window. “Artemis,” she began.

Artemis clutched Menodora’s fingers desperately. “Please, I don’t want anyone to know.”

“I could seek the Shark god to judge him.”

Artemis shook her head wildly. “Let it go. Attalus is still my husband. While it is true that I don’t love him as I should, we have a good life together. He swore that it will never happen again.”

Menodora held Artemis’ gaze. “Do you believe him?”

Artemis hesitated a split second. “Yes.”

Menodora nodded. “Then I will keep your secret, but if he acts like a beast again, you may take refuge with me. He would not dare desecrate the temple.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fancast for OCs:  
> Demonicus: Jason Momoa  
> King Philip: Lance Henriksen


End file.
